Marvel owns what it owns, I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we?

TW: for suicidal ideation in this chapter.


Chapter 5: In Need of Professional Help

The rain stopped around seven that evening. By then, however, the woman had already called it quits for the day and had returned to the main house. They hadn't spoken since their last conversation. She'd offered him a job, and he'd declined. He wasn't a carpenter. He wasn't even a handyman. He couldn't do what she was asking of him. It wasn't just that she was asking him to replace her roof, it was that she was asking him to stay. Roof repair took time. Time he couldn't guarantee.

He climbed out onto the roof, the new shingles tucked under his right arm. The roof was slick, which wasn't half so bad as feeling the wood flex and bend under his weight as he walked. Some of the shingles crumbling or sliding as he approached the leak he'd been working on for the afternoon. He was light on his feet, but he could hear them snap and crackle. Then the shingles under him gave way, and he grabbed the roof with his left hand to keep from falling off outright, right arm still wrapped protectively around the two new roof tiles. Shit. Shit Shit. He rose again, slowly and cautiously, looking at the fingertip-sized indentations in the shingles. All five digits perfectly marked in the soft rotting wood. They'd need to be replaced. He couldn't leave that kind of evidence around.

"Goddamn it." He muttered, yanking the hammer out of his jacket pocket, pulled up the offending shingle to reveal the rotting wood underneath. He stopped, squeezing his eyes shut. He'd just wanted to replace the two tiles that had resulted in the leak. He hadn't intended to replace the entire roof for this woman. He'd told her no. Quite specifically, because he couldn't spend the time replacing the roof. He couldn't just pull up the shingle and then not replace it, and he couldn't just replace the tile knowing the wood beneath it was rotting away.

She needs professional help.

"So do you, pal, " He muttered to himself, flexing the metal limb. He could feel something, a sensation in his spine that wasn't supposed to be there. A slight and faint buzzing, like when one of his actual limbs were falling asleep. He wasn't sure if it was an intentional flaw in the design of the arm by hydra to make him dependent on them, or if it was just that delicate. Regardless, it was going to become an issue sooner than he wanted or could afford.

He returned his attention back to the roof and steeled his resolve. He couldn't replace the whole thing, just the two damaged sections. The rest would have to be left to a professional. Crawling the rest of the way to the source of the leak, he secured the two new singles in place, examining the area around the leak. That needs to be replaced soon too.

Not your problem. He told himself firmly. Satisfied with his work, he turned and started back toward the loft window. There was a crackle, and he cringed as his foot went through the roof.

Shit.

Okay. Okay. He'd repair the sections of the roof he'd damaged. It would keep his location dry and warm for the duration of his stay, and keep him focused on other than the pounding in his skull and buzz in his spine.

He had work to do.

He didn't sleep that night, his brain was too loud, his thoughts too sharp, and the prospect of replacing at least two large sections of the roof was more than enough to keep anyone awake. Focus was the only way to keep his brain quiet, and shaping and prepping shingles would be enough to do just that.

How long had it been since Hydra had wiped him last? Two weeks? Three weeks? A month? Time was strange, and the days had melded together, he wasn't entirely sure. He didn't miss it. There wasn't anything about hydra worth missing, but there had been a certain quietness, a certain stillness of mind that he craved, much like his body craved the chemicals that they'd pumped him full of to keep him docile. It didn't last long, the calm serenity that came after a mind wipe. But for a moment there was absolute stillness, peace with a singular purpose, compliance. The goal of compliance and the reward that would come with it would occupy his blank mind before other things, other goals were crammed inside. Above all, compliance was key. Comply, and we won't hurt you, comply, and you won't go through another wipe. Comply, and you won't be put back under in the choking, suffocating cold. He hasn't always complied. It was why they'd kept him on ice. But that peace, that stillness was as addicting as the drugs.

Now he was nearly deafened by the loudness of his thoughts, the sharpness of the world around him even as his brain spun. There was no singular mission. Well, rather there was, survive and evade capture, but his brain was making it difficult to focus. The fullness of his mind and the memories that clouded his thoughts warped in and out of focus. The soldier's memories were sharper than those of Bucky Barnes, but they battled for dominance, threatening to rip his head in half.

The noise made it difficult to sleep, and even more difficult to focus, which was not aided at all by his continued nausea and dizziness. Whatever shit Hydra had pumped into him was taking its damn time clearing through his system, but he would push through. He didn't have a choice.

Focusing was easier when he was occupied. When he had a mission. So he found the tools and supplies he needed and started to work, pushing out everything else until it was the only thing that occupied his thoughts.

He flinched at the sound of the barn doors being pushed open. Blinking, he looked up and around his brain, registering the natural light streaming through the loft window. He'd apparently been too focused. "Good morn-" The woman started, but cut herself off. "Matt?" He looked down to see her face turned up toward him, her brows furrowed.

"Ma'am." He nodded in response.

"Morning?" She offered. She was holding a metal thermos in one hand, a satchel slung over her shoulders, a slip of paper in her free hand.

"Volunteers today?" He asked, motioning to the paper she was holding.

"Yes. Their to-do list." She nodded, turning she pushed the paper onto a large rusted nail protruding from one of the support beams. "Bill and Mike will be here in about thirty minutes." She paused, looking back up at him. "Would it be too hopeful to think you've reconsidered my offer?"

"There were several sections I damaged trying to patch the leak last night. I'm fixing those." He explained. He hadn't reconsidered her offer as such, it was rather his damn brain arguing with him that he couldn't leave the roof in that condition. It wasn't his problem, but rather what he could only assume was the last dying semblance of a conscious was making it his problem.

"Ah." She nodded, a deep crease of worry on her forehead. "Makes sense. I'd still like to pay you for your time, regardless."

He paused, glancing around. He could use the cash. He would need the money when he left here. He had several caches along his route, but between now and then, it would be scraping by, stealing if necessary. Having her pay him for his work would be a way to achieve the same ends without stealing. Yet, something in his stomach twinged. She couldn't hire a professional carpenter to fix her roof, and she was desperate enough to ask a strange man sleeping in her barn to do the work for her. He couldn't take her money for ethical reasons, never mind common decency. He nearly balked at the idea. Decency? Him? "Consider it volunteer work." He said finally after a moment.

A look, he wasn't sure if it was exasperation, amusement, or relief, passed over her face, and she nodded. "All right. But you may wanna put on the t-shirt Suzanne gave you. Wouldn't want anyone to think you'd accidentally stumbled into my barn at random and started doing pro bono carpentry for no apparent reason." Her sarcasm was thick, and a southern accent dripped from her words like poisoned honey, a wicked smile quirking at the corner of her mouth.

So she was aware of the absurdity of the situation. She wasn't an idiot. He wasn't sure if he should be concerned or relieved, but she wasn't wrong. She was also giving him cover so that he could avoid any inconvenient questions. "Right. Wouldn't want anyone to get that idea." He replied dryly, doing the best attempt at sarcasm he could manage at the moment.

Ramirez giggled. It was a light, soft sound. Unexpected, to say the very least. "I'll toss it up to you. I know climbing up and down that ladder can be a pain in the ass." She said. Moving to the stall, she scooped up the shirt. Folding and rolling it into a cylinder looked back up at him. "Don't judge me, Matt. I have terrible aim. You ready?"

He nodded, and she lobbed the shirt up at him with reasonable accuracy. He caught it easily.

"Nice catch!" She said, without a hint of the sarcasm she'd weaponized only moments before.

"Not a bad throw."

"Thanks." She smiled. "Food'll be on the inside of the stall when you're ready."

He nodded and watched as she returned to her morning routine, their exchange only a brief blip in the normal operations of the barn. He removed his jacket and sweater and pulled the t-shirt over his long-sleeved shirt before pulling on his other layers. He glanced down at the Last Chance logo emblazoned across his chest, partially obscured by his jacket. Now he had purpose and place.

He exhaled slowly, the morning air was sharp and made his chest ache, doing nothing to ease the other pain that tweaked and twanged. Then she turned on the radio which hummed below, and the other morning sounds of the barn filtered in around him, grounding him in the moment.

Consistency. Repetition. Unchanging and unaltered by the passage of time. Soothing. Was the only word he could think of to describe it.

Except she'd deviated from routine this morning. Ramirez had employed sarcasm. She'd giggled. She'd even smiled. People didn't do any of that around the soldier. Well. He amended. People did, it wasn't normally directed at him.

"Mike! Bill!" The woman's voice pierced the silence of the ranch. There was an excitement in her voice, masking the weariness he'd seen over the past few days.

"Ramirez." A gruff, male, voice replied.

There was an exchange between them that he couldn't quite catch before Ramirez concluded with a "Play nice gentlemen."

There was the crunch of gravel that indicated she was walking toward the pasture gate, and that two pairs of footsteps approaching the barn. He watched with bated breath as they entered the barn. You belong here. Act like you belong here. He reminded himself. She'd given him a t-shirt. By that logic, he did belong here, which was the only logic that mattered presently.

Two men entered. They were both male, white, stocky, and wearing last chance ranch t-shirts, jeans, and work boots. That was where the similarities ended. One was older than the other, perhaps in his mid to late 60s with a goatee and long grey hair pulled back in a low ponytail, though he couldn't help but notice, the length did nothing to make up for the fact the top was thinning. The other man was in his mid-30s, hair buzzed short, and was clean-shaven. He could also make out an array of burn scars on the man's hands and arms that peaked out of the collar of his shirt, and the older man walked with a slight limp. Veterans. They were both military or former military. They were, however, of no threat to him. Not immediately.

Both men looked up at him at the same time, their eyes running an evaluation of their own. What their findings were, he could only guess because their faces revealed nothing. "You Matt?" The older man asked gruffly, voice like gravel in a rock quarry.

"Yes, Sir."

"See you finally talked Ramirez into fixing the roof." He said.

"Drafted, actually."

The older man snorted. "That's a first for her." He nodded. "Well. Welcome aboard. I'm Bill, this is Mike." He motioned to the other man with his head. Mike wasn't paying attention and instead surveyed the list Ramirez had left critically.

"Whaddya got?" Bill asked, turning to look at the list over Mike's shoulder.

"Ehhh, the usual, mostly. Muck, troughs, hay for pasture one, some electrical issues in the outbuilding. There's an appointment at 10:30 and then at 1:00 and 3:00."

"Who do we need to have pulled and ready?"

"Muffin, McSmush, and Peachy," Mike answered.

Bill glanced up at him, "She must like you, Matt. Normally, she gives the greenhorns shit detail."

He paused like he was mulling something over. "With the state of that roof, it might be worse than shit detail. Tough break, either way, kid."

"Yes, sir."

Bill paused, eyeing him. "Pen or service?"

He tensed. Was it obvious? Had he been made. He could feel his palms itch as he mentally plotted his escape route.

"Those are the types she likes to bring on. Army, Vietnam, and then a stint in prison for me. And Mike was Marines, Afghanistan, was it three or four tours?" Bill called to the younger man who was already mucking out stalls.

"Four." Mike corrected.

"You're in good company, Son," Bill said.

He nodded, uncertain of what to say. He was technically both a veteran and a former con, but he wasn't ready to divulge that information. "Yes, sir." He managed after a moment.

"Not a sir. Bill's just fine. Or Davidson."

"You don't have to be everyone's dad Davidson. Just let the guy work on the roof. He's gonna need all the time he can get on that little project." Mike cut in. "And when you're done with the welcome wagon, I'm ankle-deep in horse shit if you wanna roll out the wheelbarrow."

"Yeah yeah." Bill rolled his eyes. "Need anything just give a shout."

He nodded, and Bill walked outside. Mike caught his eye and nodded knowingly, but said nothing.

They both returned to work in silence, the only sound between them was the hum off the radio and the noise from their tools. Bill was in and out, exchanging brief bursts of conversations with Mike. Then two more people arrived. Bridget and Jonathan (whom they all referred to as Jonny) arrived an hour and a half later. Thirty minutes later, a lanky Hispanic young man named Mitchell, who was no more than 20 or so arrived, wearing long-sleeved under his t-shirt, his eyes were vacant, and he spoke softly and only to Mike or Ramirez who then translated to the other volunteers. From what he could tell, Davidson was in charge of the volunteers, and he doled out to each individual. They all knew one another and chatted amicably as they worked, walking in and out of the barn.

For his part, no one questioned his presence in the loft. Bridget and Jonny had both expressed their excitement that Ramirez was finally getting someone to patch the roof, and Mitchell had nodded but given him a thumbs up. He focused on his work but listened to their chatter.

This was a community how and why it had formed he didn't know, but at the center of it was the woman. A light seemed to emanate from her as she moved through the group, sharing this light and warmth with those around her. They all seemed to be pulled in by it and reached out to partake in the light she gave. A hand on the shoulder, a touch of the hand, a handshake, a tap on the arm, a hug. They were all here for different reasons, but Ramirez was the reason they had a place at all to come.

He had nearly four dozen roof tiles completed by the time she called for lunch. The group abandoned their present tasks and converged upon the picnic table just outside.

"Matt?" He looked down to see Ramirez standing at the foot of the ladder.

"Ramirez."

She cracked a smile. "You good?"

He nodded.

"I'll bring you some water and Gatorade. It's getting hot out there, I can't imagine how it is up top." She commented, turning nearly ran into Bill.

"Damn Ramirez, not going to let the guy down for lunch?" Bill came up behind her with a burrito and a bottle of water. "Go get lunch. You've earned it, kid. I got something for the new guy." He told Ramirez. Bill waited until she was gone before he approached the ladder.

Climbing nimbly, Bill reached the top. Setting the items on the loft floor, leveled his gaze on him. "Ramirez is a good one. One of the few left," He said shortly. Bill maintained eye contact, and something dark crossed the man's expression.

Ramirez had leveled a similar gaze on him only a few days before. It had been a warning. No one hurts my people. Davidson's expression was a threat. You hurt her, and I kill you. This was not an idle threat, and he had no doubt that Davidson would, or would do everything in his power, to follow up on his threat should something happen to Ramirez.

"She is." He agreed after a moment.

This seemed to satisfy the man because he nodded. "Good to have you on board." And without another word, Davidson descended down the ladder and returned outside.

He didn't take his eyes off Davidson until the man disappeared from view. He would've laughed the prospect of that man trying to threaten him, but he understood, and he found that he was almost relieved. It was good to see that someone had some sense. That someone was looking out for her, that someone around her could sense that he was dangerous. What Davidson would do with this information and how Ramirez would receive it was something else altogether.

Maggie watched as Bill walked from the barn and back toward the picnic table. Something was up. He'd been acting weird all day since she'd told him about Matt working on the roof. Then just a moment ago, when he'd called her kid. He hadn't called her kid in a damn long time. Like, since she almost knocked his teeth out for it almost six years ago. Something was bothering the man, and she was going to get to the bottom of it. "Bill. Did you get my electrical issue sorted?" She asked, pulling off her work gloves as she approached.

Bill looked up at her, surprise flashing on his face. "Wanna see?" He asked uncertainly.

"Yeah." She nodded.

"Lead the way, boss."

She walked over to the outbuilding, Bill following behind her. "In here?" She asked, motioning to the interior.

Bill nodded wordlessly, and they both entered the outbuilding, Maggie turned on the light, closing and locking the door behind her.

"I take it this isn't about the electrical issue," Bill said dryly.

"What's going on, Bill?" She asked.

"Where'd you dig that one up, Ramirez?" He asked, going and sitting down on the bench.

Oh jeezus. They were going to do this? Right now? This was bound to happen eventually, might as well get it over with now. "I understand that you're concerned, Bill, but believe it or not, the guy in my barn isn't my biggest problem right now."

"Christ, Ramirez, you can't take in every starved stray that stumbles into your barn." Bill shook his head.

"Seems a little hypocritical, William." She said dryly. "All things considered."

"That was different."

"Because it was you? What makes Matt any different than you?"

"You weren't the only one out here."

"Bill. Matt is harmless. He's had more than ample opportunity to hurt me and hasn't."

"He's dangerous."

"Based on what? You're dangerous, Mike's dangerous, Mitchell's dangerous, Mr. McSmush is dangerous."

"Now you're being stubborn, Ramirez."

"What do you want me to do, Bill?" She snapped. "Call the cops? What's that going to do for the poor bastard? Or me? Or anyone? He showed up in my barn a few nights ago and then decided to patch my roof, pro-bono. Real dangerous, scary shit, Bill." Maggie drawled.

"You tell Wilson?"

Maggie didn't say anything, she flexed her hands, taking everything she had not to take a swing at him. She wouldn't, but she wanted to.

"Have you?" He pushed.

"I'm here, Wilson isn't. He doesn't get say in what I do here now." She said, her voice low.

"Mags-"

"No, Bill. Stop." She cut him off.

"If this is about money, we can fundraise. We can get the money together for the roof. You don't have to get the vagrant to fix the roof for you. There are social services for cases like him. We can help him, but you can't do it alone," Bill said gently. "You can't save the world, not by yourself."

Maggie nodded, leaning against the wall, saying nothing. She wasn't trying to save the world. The world could burn for all she cared. She just wanted to keep her ranch, her clients, her volunteers, and her house afloat and operating. She wanted to feel well-rested. She wanted a break from feeling like she was at the end of her rope.

"What do you need?"

"A stiff drink and a massage." She said through a strangled sigh, massaging her forehead with her fingertips. "Neither of which I might add you are qualified to give out."

"I wasn't going to go there, Ramirez." Bill chuckled, rising to his feet, crossed the small outbuilding, and clapped her on the shoulder. "You have a big heart. That's what we all love about you. What Underdahl and Wilson loved about you. I don't want to see you get hurt because of it."

Maggie surveyed him a moment before nodding. "I appreciate your concern, Bill, but trust me." She didn't know how to finish that. She didn't have a plan. She didn't have the energy to come up with a plan. She just had to ask Bill, ask all of her volunteers and clients to trust that she would get them through this. She could barely keep a roof over her horses' heads, never mind one over her own.

"Okay." Bill nodded, checking his watch. "You have an appointment in ten. You should probably eat something before then." He unlocked the door and opened it, walking outside.

Maggie closed the door behind him and leaned against it. She could feel her shoulder sag. She blinked and reached for the chain around her neck. She ran her finger through the larger of the two gold bands and sighed. No time to feel sorry for yourself. She had work to do.

The rest of the afternoon proceeded without incident, and around five o'clock, the last vehicle pulled from the drive and out onto the main road. Maggie stood and waved them off. As the sound of the truck faded into the distance, the smile seeped from her expression. Sighing, she rubbed her face wearily and toward the barn. There she saw his dark frame standing in the doorway motionless, his eyes surveying her. Cold. Calculating. Maggie shook her head. Does he mean to be so scary? Or is it an amplified bitchy resting face type situation? Does he smile? Every? What would that even look like? She didn't know.

She should really listen to Bill. She knew she should listen to Bill. The man was dangerous. She'd seen it in his eyes when she'd first discovered him. There was just no way to get him to social services without it turning into a situation. She wanted to avoid a situation at all costs.

"Everything all right?" She asked, approaching the barn.

"Update on your roof." He explained shortly.

She nodded, and he motioned for her to follow him. Around at the back of the barn was a ladder, an array of old shingles laying on the ground around it. "See you found what you needed." She commented.

"Your tool shed is very well stocked," He agreed.

"Up?" She motioned up the ladder.

"After you."

They climbed onto the roof, walking cautiously toward the spot the old shingles had come from. Rotted. Her heart sank, and she glanced up at him. He was watching her, his face stony and unreadable.

"You really should think about getting a professional." He said shortly.

I can't afford a professional! She screamed silently. It felt like a black hole, and any second, she would be subjected to spaghettification. Perhaps that was what was already taking place, and she was being stretched so thin that there was hardly anything left of her. Maybe she had already reached the event horizon, and no one else could tell she was being sucked downward. "Thank you for your help. I guess patch what you can. I'll make a few calls." She swallowed back the tears that had been threatening to overtake her since her conversation with Bill in the outbuilding. She turned to go back to the ladder, her foot slipping, she could feel her center of gravity start to pull down and toward the edge of the roof. Then, just as she was getting ready to go over, a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

She looked up into Matt's face. Still, nothing in his expression. He pulled his hand back as if he'd been burned. "Thanks." She said. He could've let me go over the edge. She immediately thought. He should've. She couldn't help but add.

"No problem." He replied flatly.

"Let me know if you need anything. I'll be around." Maggie said finally before making her way to the ladder.

Her head felt like it was spinning. It would be time to bring the horses in for the evening feed, and then once they bedded down, she could start looking for someone to fix the roof. She paused, planting her feet firmly on the ground, turned to look out at Ghost's enclosure. After, of course, she did her daily socialization exercises with that spooked creature. Well, ONE of the spooked creatures in this godforsaken place.

She should listen to Bill. Take him up on the offer to fundraise for a new roof. But she couldn't let them know how bad it was, how bad it had gotten. The place was literally rotting from within, and she was all but powerless to prevent its outright collapse. How had it come to this? How had it gotten this bad?


A/N: I hope you enjoyed! R&R or just fav and sign up for alerts! TNKS!